Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 (12 page)

I drove along the circular driveway, past the immaculate lawn and square-shaped shrubbery, up to a long, stone staircase that led to double glass and gold doors. Well, not actual gold…at least I didn't think it was real, but with some rich people, you never knew.

As we walked up the stairs, the front door opened, and a woman looking slightly younger than her years stepped out. She had thick, light auburn hair that fell in waves around her shoulders. Hazel eyes lined in a smoky, gray liner, full lips from too much collagen moistened with a pink-tinted gloss, and a smattering of freckles that spread out across her neck and chest.

She wore a tight, dark brown skirt that fell a good inch-and-a-half above her knees and a leopard blouse with a deep-V that showed off her very high, very bouncy tatas. A thin gold belt with matching, five-inch heels completed the look. Despite the cliché cougar wardrobe, she was absolutely stunning.

She held up a finger adorned in an emerald ring the size of a walnut. "Don't tell me." She pointed to me, stared at my face, then did the same to Caleigh. "You are Miss Presley."

Caleigh's eyes lit up. "Yes. How'd you know?"

"You have the same chin as the King."

Caleigh squealed. "I do. No one's ever noticed that before." She gave me a see-I-told-you look.

"Well, let's not stand out here in the sun. It wreaks havoc on the skin," Marguerite said then wrapped an arm around Caleigh's shoulders and led her inside.

Did she always welcome strangers so easily into her home?

I followed and tried not to gawk at the statue of a naked man, anatomy ridiculously accurate, in the foyer beside a winding staircase.

But Marguerite must've caught my eye because she whistled and said, "Gorgeous, isn't he? It just arrived this morning, and I'm not sure where to put him. At first I thought the sunroom, but now I'm thinking my bedroom."

Yes, because that's what I wanted to see when I woke in the middle of the night, just standing there—his penis pointing at me in the dark.

She led the way into a sitting room and waved her hand. "Please take a seat. Would you like coffee, tea, whiskey? I can have the girl bring it to us."

"No, thank you," I said and sat on the edge of a brown suede sectional.

Caleigh sat beside me, but she leaned back against the cushions, making herself comfortable. "The girl?"

Marguerite sat opposite us, on a bright red chair, the only item in the room that wasn't brown, gold, or off-white. "Please forgive my tackiness. Every month for the past eight, the cook has quit. Just poof, up and left like a bad magician's vanishing act. I can no longer keep track of names."

"Why have they quit?" I asked, curious to how the other half lived.

"The last one said I'm too demanding. I don't see how breakfast in bed is demanding when I pay her handsomely."

"That's it? Breakfast in bed?" Caleigh asked.

Marguerite giggled. "She may have walked in on me and a male guest in a compromising position as it was delivered. Let's just say my friend is as endowed as my statue."

I shifted in my seat and felt Caleigh stifle a giggle beside me.

Marguerite smiled. "Exactly. Now, what can I do for you beautiful young women?"

As I opened my mouth, she winked and whispered, "Love your shoes."

I glanced down at my pink pumps and grinned. "Thank you. I, um…we're here because you know Stuart Livingston."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "Do I ever. Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Have you seen him recently?"

"Sadly, I have not. Stuart is an old soul. He's gentle, wise, and very passionate. I'm not just talking romantically either. He cares deeply about things. Animals, wild life, our environment. That man knows more about marine biology than my old professor in college."

"When was the last time you met with him?" I asked.

"Oh, it's been a few weeks. I miss him terribly too. He is…"

"Yeah. We know," I stopped her. "He's great in bed."

I looked to Caleigh and sighed. Kate was right. Somehow she was married to the one faithful man in L.A.

We sat there for another hour as she told us all about meeting Stuart, her love of art, especially paintings and statues of naked men, and her childhood dream of being a pianist, even though she never learned to play. I learned more about her childhood than I remembered of my own. She loved to talk and had a way with words that made it difficult to interject.

Finally I managed to ask, "How did Stuart seem the last time you saw him?"

"Quiet. But that wasn't odd. He was always talking about his wife and how much he loved her. It should have bothered me, but it was so cute and endearing, I didn't mind. Plus, he was really great in bed."

I rose, and Caleigh followed. "We should get going. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with us."

She showed us to the door. "It was my pleasure, dears. Any time you're in the neighborhood and want to chat, just stop by. I know some men who would make your hair curl."

I expected Caleigh to laugh or purr in typically adorable Caleigh style, but she just waved good-bye.

As we settled into my car, I asked, "What's wrong with you?"

She widened her eyes. "What do you mean?"

I pulled out of the gate and hung a right. "You didn't react to her mention of hot, single guys."

She giggled. "I'm a one-man kind of girl now."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Curtis?"

She nodded. "He is absolutely amazing. He's totally romantic. We went for a picnic on the beach last night. The moon, the water, a bottle of wine. I think it's love."

"That's great, Caleigh." I was glad at least someone's love life was happening and happy.

My phone rang. I pulled it from my purse, wedged between the two front seats. "Hello?"

"James. Has Elaine talked to you?" It was Derek.

"Yeah, we had drinks together last night."

"Is she okay?" He sounded tense.

"As okay as she can be considering her boyfriend is lying to her."

He sighed. "I'll be a few days longer than I thought."

I hung a left on Wilshire. "What are you doing?"

"It's personal." The line clicked in my ear.

Damn man. Just as I was about to set the phone in my purse, it rang again. I swiped the on button. "Did we get disconnected, or did you hang up on me on purpose?"

"It's Danny." His tone was rough and tight.

"Oh. Hi, I—" I glanced at the time. Four-twenty. Shoot.

"You forgot to pick me up."

"I'm so sorry. I was with a client, and the time got away. Are you still waiting?"

"No, I took a cab home."

My guilt rose. First our fight, then that weird dinner, and now this. "I'll make it up to you."

"Oh yeah? How?" The annoyance seemed to subside, and in its place was intrigue mixed with playfulness in his voice. When you spent a good portion of your life listening to others, you tended to pick up on tones easily.

"I'll…make you dinner," I grasped. "Tonight."

"You're gonna cook?"

"Dinner at your place at seven. Don't make plans."

"You got it, Bond."

"See you later," I said then hung up.

"Who was that?" Caleigh asked with a snicker.

I smiled. "Your fiancé."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When I said I'd cook, what I really meant was that I'd buy dinner from one of my favorite restaurants and bring it to his apartment. When he opened the door, I held up two bags of deliciousness from Chez Robert.

"This is cooking?" He smirked.

"Yep."

He opened the door wider, and I noticed he wore a pair of well-worn jeans and a black polo shirt, both of which clung to his fit physique in a way that had me imagining he could pose for one of Marguerite's statues. And when I passed him, I caught a whiff of soap and heady musk from his aftershave. Damn, he smelled better than the food.

I walked farther into the living room and realized he'd changed things. Where there was once a sofa, coffee table, a TV, and dumbbells, now there was the addition of an area rug, an armchair, a cactus plant on a side table, a couple of lamps, and framed photos of various location shots on the wall. The photos were his own work, from places I knew he'd been over the years, enlarged and framed. They looked amazing. His apartment looked homey. Could it be that Loverboy was becoming domesticated?

I entered the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. Danny helped me take the trays of food out and open them.

"This looks great," he said while lifting the lid off garlic mashed potatoes. When he got to the filet mignon, I heard him sigh.

I smiled, pleased. "I forgot beverages. I hope you have something, or I can run back out real quick."

He opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine. "For special occasions."

I assumed he'd have beer. This was ten times better.

While he uncorked the top and got glasses, I took out a couple of his dishes and plated the food.

"Should I cut your steak for you?" I asked with a smirk. I said it jokingly, a jab about last night, but at the same time, I was also serious. I had asked the restaurant to slice it rather than serving up a giant slab of cow, but I still wasn't totally sure he could manage.

"Haha, you're funny." But he eyed the meat and must've been satisfied with the size. "It's fine. Plus it actually looks tender."

"Yeah, what was up with the brisket needing a blow torch?"

My exaggeration made him laugh.

We brought everything into his small dining area and sat at the square table.

He held up his glass of wine. "To friends."

I clinked my glass against his and took a sip. The aromatic flavor coated my tongue. It was nice to relax during a good meal. "So, last night…" I began.

He glanced up, held my gaze, waited for me to finish. When I didn't, he added, "It was awkward."

I laughed. "Yeah. Caleigh's dad is old-fashioned. No progressive parenting there."

I knew I had to apologize for my quick temper yesterday afternoon, but I feared that if it was only one-sided, I'd get annoyed again. The last thing I wanted was to tarnish this evening. It was the most relaxed I'd been all week.

Danny smiled. "This food is delicious. Last night, yesterday is…well, over."

In other words, we didn't need to dwell and talk things to death. Being friends with Danny was easy.

As I cut into my steak (It was fork-tender, so whew.), I glanced to a side table he'd added to this part of the room. On it were a couple of framed photos. One was of three boys. They smiled into the camera with their arms around each other's shoulders. The middle one had a wicked, familiar grin.

"Is that you?"

Danny followed my gaze and nodded. "Yep. I was ten."

I set down my fork and reached for the picture. The boy on his right was dark-skinned and bald, or very closely shaved, and the other boy had short black hair and a toothless grin. He was younger than the others.

"Who are they?"

"My brothers." Danny bit into a roll.

Brothers? I quirked a brow. "Um, how do you have a black and an Asian brother? Unless you were adopted."

"Yeah."

Wait. What? "You were adopted? Why don't I know this?"

He winked. "I told you, you don't know everything about me. And I wasn't exactly adopted. I lived in foster care. They're Charlie and Eugene, my foster brothers."

I'd heard him mention those names before, but I assumed they were just old high school buddies. I hadn't a clue Danny spent time in the system. And here I spent countless hours complaining to him about Derek and grieving about my dead mom…and I knew nothing about his childhood. What kind of friend was I?

"So tell me about it. How long were you with them? Where are your biological parents? Everything."

He opened his mouth to speak, and I held up a hand. "Wait. First, why haven't you mentioned this before?"

He shrugged and swallowed a piece of meat. "It's not something you go around saying."

I leaned forward and touched his hand. "Danny, I've know you for a million years. I'm your best friend." Or at least I assumed I was. Please don't let it be that I misread another person in my life.

He squeezed my fingers. "It's not you. It's just…not something I talk about. With anyone."

I could tell I'd hit an emotional nerve. Danny didn't do emotional. Neither did I usually.

I pulled back and stabbed my fork into my asparagus. "I understand. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine." And it was, but I had so many questions. I didn't want to pry though. I did that all day, every day at work. I just wanted a relaxing evening with a friend…with this friend.

"My mom was fifteen when she had me," he said, while pushing a clump of potatoes around his plate.

I continued to eat, not wanting to interrupt, hoping he'd reveal all.

"She and her family were Catholic, so going through with the pregnancy was her only option, but her folks forced her to give me up." He looked up. "I haven't met her face-to-face. Maybe some day. But we exchanged letters a few years ago. Around the time you came home."

I sucked in a breath. So while Derek had been shot and I was taking over the Bond Agency, Danny had been dealing with his bio mom and never said a word. If I hadn't had so much on my plate, I could've helped him with what he was going through. That timing sucked. Of course it wasn't my fault, but I still felt guilty.

"I grew up in the system," he continued. "At first I was adopted by a great couple, or so I'm told. I don't remember them much. The wife died when I was five, of cancer. The husband was devastated. He started drinking, couldn't deal, and couldn't take care of me. He gave me back." Danny chuckled, but from its rough tone, it was anything funny.

A wedge of steak got stuck in my throat. I took a gulp of wine and swallowed. "It's good you don't remember them then."

He nodded and scooped up a forkful of potatoes. "This is so good."

"Yeah, they use just the right amount of garlic and fresh chives."

We ate for a few minutes in silence. I figured that was all he wanted to share, until he said, "I grew up in foster care after that. I'd been bounced around to three different homes before the Reynolds took me in."